Old, low-yielding vines. I’ve written that phrase more times than I’d like to confess. But how much does it really mean when it comes to the quality of the wine in your glass? The 2023 vintage in Burgundy (read our full vintage report here) produced generous yields. In farming terms, that’s a good thing: a plentiful crop that restocks the cellars (and coffers). But the sheer volume of fruit (“a wall of grapes”, as Bouchard’s winemaker Frédéric Weber told us) posed its own challenge – and much of our time in the region’s cellars this year was spent diving into how they managed, or controlled, the yield. It seemed fitting, therefore, to address the topic in greater detail.  In the Old World, appellation rules will limit yields, with the yield generally decreasing as you move up the appellation system (see below a table detailing the maximum yields for Burgundy, for example). Of course, this indicates a relationship between yield and quality, implying less is better – and there is no doubt that excessive yields don’t produce fine wine. But how low is too low? There is a fashion for prizing vines that barely manage to ripen a bunch or two, but do they really make better wine than those producing a decent crop? Beyond our obsession with rarity, what are the consequences of less fruit per vine – and therefore, what does more entail? A note on measuring yield Before we get into the weeds of the matter, let’s address how we talk about yield. In the Old World, the most common measurement of yield is hectolitres per hectare (hl/ha), measuring the volume of juice or wine per hectare of vineyard area. In Champagne the standard measure is kilos per hectare and in Italy you may see reference to quintales per hectare (qt/ha or q/ha, with one quintal translating to 100kg), while in the US, producers are more likely to use tons per acre. We’ll dive further into the many variables here, but it’s worth highlighting that vine density isn’t taken into account by any of these measurements. Although a higher number of vines per hectare will generally mean a higher yield across the vineyard, the increased competition will also likely reduce the yield per vine. For this article, we have spoken to producers from a range of regions, but do note that yields are not comparable between varieties or region. Climate – with heat, sunlight and water availability, as well as the varying size of berries and clusters of any given variety, mean that there is no number that can be deemed a global average when it comes to yield. (Do look at this table compiled by the Wine Advocate’s William Kelley, comparing vine density, cluster weight and juice yields for various classic fine wine regions, to give you an idea of the differences between regions.) Given this, “high” and “low” yields aren’t equated to specific numbers here, but the concept discussed more broadly – and arguably more relevantly for those of us drinking wine rather than making it. Bearing all of this in mind, extremely approximate conversions can be made as follows: one tonne per hectare is approximately 7hl/ha, while one ton per acre is around 17.5hl/ha (Oxford Companion to Wine). Yields: how low is too low? “It’s not extreme mythology: low yields produce better quality,” Cerbaiona’s Matthew Fioretti tells me; for him, high yields risk dilution and sanitary problems – and at excessive levels, that is certainly true. But, as Myriad’s Mike Smith told me, the relationship is “not linear”. Mike Dunn (Dunn Vineyards) generally has low yields, but that’s not necessarily about concentration, he explains: it’s simply about how much they can ripen before winter hits. Up on Napa’s Howell Mountain, their poor soils and farming (avoiding irrigation and fertilisation where they can) naturally produce lower yields. He recently changed some of their Cabernet Sauvignon to cane (rather than cordon) pruning and, although they’re getting more fruit off the same vines, there’s been no loss in quality. “It’s all relative,” says Ivan Massonnat at Belargus in Anjou. He points to Saumur with its limestone soils, where producers can crop 45-50hl/ha without a problem, but on the schist soils that lie beneath his vineyards: “Forget about doing much more than 30-35hl/ha,” he says. And even that has proven challenging for him. In the seven vintages he’s produced at the estate, only two have come close to 30hl/ha, with the average around 15hl/ha, simply due to the challenges of each vintage. He’d have loved to crop more – but nature had other ideas, and vignerons have to adapt to the vintage. Massonnat explains how if you farm to produce yields that are overly low, you can end up with fruit that has high technical, or sugar, maturity, but isn’t yet phenolically ripe – leading to unbalanced wines. Smith echoes this, talking specifically about Beckstoffer Dr Crane, one of Napa’s legendary vineyards, which he finds likes to produce more – around five tons an acre (versus four in most of the vineyards he works with). He sees producers cropping to just three tons per acre there, and in warm vintages the fruit ripens too quickly for the phenolics to catch up. Philippe Bascaules – who was first appointed Estate Director at Ch. Margaux in 1990 – offers an interesting perspective, arguing that there’s no direct relationship between yield and quality. In Bordeaux in the 1970s, he tells me, yields were consistently low – 25-30hl/ha, with wines that were inconsistent. As the wines became more popular, with demand from the US in particular for the 1982 vintage, producers started aiming for significantly higher yields and chaptalizing much more. Soon, average yields had doubled to 50-60hl/ha – a level that was unsustainable, especially in challenging vintages such as 1992, ’93 and ’94. Gradually they implemented changes, introducing green-harvesting (in 1986 at Ch. Margaux) and reducing fertilisation levels in the 1990s. Today, he and his team aim for around 45hl/ha, “a good production” in his mind – but a level which also offers insurance against inclement conditions. Lowering yields is something that, for him, has brought greater consistency to both the estate and region across vintages – ensuring they can ripen the crop each year. Deliberately reducing the yield beyond this, however, wouldn’t offer any serious benefit, he says. Similarly, across the Durantou family’s estates on the Right Bank, including Ch. l’Eglise-Clinet, Noëmie Durantou Reilhac targets a yield of circa 42hl/ha. “The vine wants to produce fruit,” she says, “so if the yield is really, really low, something went wrong.” For her, it’s the balance that matters most. With very high yields, the resulting wines will lack concentration (“You cannot make in tanks what nature hasn’t done before,” she says), but equally if the berries are so small that there is barely any juice, you’ll have little but tannins left to work with. And, while hail or frost will reduce your yield, they won’t result in greater concentration. “I think it just comes down to stress,” Dunn tells me. And that’s a common thread for several producers, arguing that vines need to struggle to produce quality. As Sébastien le Golvet – of Champagne Henri Giraud, who works with the poor soils of Aÿ – says, “genii are born of suffering”. Suffering doesn’t always mean lower yields, however: arguably, Dunn says, in high-vigour sites, keeping higher yields will help increase stress, pushing the vine to work harder – and therefore produce higher quality. Elements impacting yield While it’s impossible for us to address every factor that influences yield, it’s worth – relatively briefly – highlighting a few additional influences beyond site (with poorer or richer soils), variety and vintage: Trellising: Trellising – the shape in which a vine is trained – can be used to control yield. At Cerbaiona, Fioretti emphasises how using alberello or bush vines is key to helping contain Sangiovese’s natural vigour. At Tiberio, Cristiana Tiberio’s oldest vines are pergola-trained, with a traditional Abruzzese system that encourages competition but also increases the canopy to aid photosynthesis and ripening. Vine material/rootstock: The material used in a vineyard is integral (as with Quinta do Noval’s Nacional vineyard, see below). Mike Dunn, for example, mentioned how one of his older vineyards was planted on St George rootstock, known for shatter and therefore limiting yields even further. Jean-Marie Fourrier (Domaine Fourrier) argues that the use of selected clones, rather than massal selection, has resulted in higher yields and the need to green harvest, something that he never does – aided further by the age of his vines (see below for more on this). Vine age: There’s no doubt that the element of vine age is conflated with yields and quality, with older vines often producing better fruit – but less of it. As Mike Dunn told me, the wines from his oldest vines are “more intriguing”, but at some point economics comes into play, and the level of production is financially unsustainable. It’s another non-linear relationship, however, as Durantou Reilhac explains: “Some 70-year-old grandmas can run and dance, and others are weaker.” Although most old vines will produce less fruit, she finds it’s far from uniform in her vineyards – and sometimes there will be young vines that produce less. Virus and millerandage: Virused vines will produce lower yields, and as with old vines, will reach a point where they are unsustainable. While on the surface virus is negative, certain producers do value the reduction in yield or slower ripening that is a result of disease – South Africa’s Hamilton Russell being one (with leafroll virus). Quinta do Noval persists with its own-rooted Nacional vineyard, suffering from phylloxera, with the vines slowly dying and yielding tiny volumes, to produce a particularly special and rare Vintage Port. Similarly, millerandage is a condition most commonly a consequence of poor weather at fruit-set, producing grape clusters with unevenly sized grapes, combining larger and smaller (or shot) berries – sometimes referenced as hen-and-chick. While this reduces yield, the phenomenon is sometimes valued for giving increased concentration to wine. Indeed, some particular clones – such as the Mendoza, Wente or Gingin clones of Chardonnay – are valued for their bunches with hen-and-chicks, and Bret Brothers, for example, even makes a special Cuvée Millerandée – with millerandée Chardonnay – from Les Quarts (a Pouilly-Vinzelles site recently awarded Premier Cru status). Cover crops: At Henri Giraud, Sébastien le Golvet feels that cover crops are essential to the quality of their fruit – and the yield. Sewn just before harvest, the cover crops provide competition up until flowering when they roll the grass mix, creating a bed that holds water and offers nitrogen to the soils, acting as a natural fertiliser – in a way both moderating then fuelling the vines’ growth. This is one hint at the extent to which the type of soils and level of organic matter, not to mention water availability, dictated by site and the farming methods, are all key. The previous vintage: There are two theories at play here. Firstly, conditions during what is known as the initiation phase of the vine cycle, which takes place alongside flowering, will dictate the yield of the following vintage. In 2023 in Burgundy for example, one of the factors in yield was that the spring of 2022 offered perfect conditions, laying the groundwork for 2023’s plentiful crop. As Sébastien le Golvet also explained, however, a large crop in one vintage can tire the vines, meaning they have less to give the following year. How wine producers manage yield The vine naturally wants to reproduce, to grow, ripen fruit and spread its seeds. Vignerons are tasked with taming the plant to focus its energies to develop fruit of concentration and complexity that will make fine wine. This is done in many ways, some of which include: Pruning: The first stage to set up the yield in an existing vineyard is pruning, leaving the appropriate number of buds per vine for the season ahead. The timing of this varies according to the producer, from December through to March, with later pruning helping delay the vine cycle, which is sometimes desirable. Alvina Pernot, for example, specifically pruned her vines shortly (ie to offer a lower crop) in 2023 to help the vines recover from the relatively high-yielding 2022 vintage. Lalou Bize-Leroy famously works with very low yields, and emphasises how important pruning is in this (Domaine Leroy harvested just under 30hl/ha in 2023, its highest ever yield – a number which would still be low by many producers’ standards). De-budding or suckering: In spring, producers will de-bud or sucker the vines, removing lateral shoots and providing further control of the potential yield, as well as the spacing and position of the crop. In 2023 in Burgundy, many producers emphasised how important this was. Hugues Pavelot described it as “drastic”, while Philippe Jouan passed through his vines twice. At Bouchard, Frédéric Weber explained how some of the buds produced two or three bunches in 2023 (rather than the normal one), meaning that even with extensive de-budding yields were very high. Green harvesting: Green-harvesting is the most discussed method of yield control, and one that divides producers. We spoke to several Burgundian vignerons who avoid it (Dominique Lafon, Jacques Devauges at Domaine des Lambrays, Philippe Jouan and Jean-Marie Fourrier, to name a few) – some of whom felt that they had no choice but to use the method in 2023, despite their best efforts. The reason against green-harvesting is that the vine will try to compensate, and that it can be avoided with managing the vineyard in other ways. That said, there are many top-tier producers that green-harvest, and feel it is key to the quality they produce (Ch. Margaux, Eglise-Clinet, Georges Noëllat and Olivier Bernstein, to name a few). And it’s not a decision that any take lightly, well aware that they are literally throwing away potential income. At Cerbaiona, Fioretti compares the vines to runners or cyclists – needing to carry as little weight as possible to get over the finish line. With Sangiovese, he finds it’s unavoidable, especially with the presence of “wings” or “shoulders” (smaller separate clusters that sit on the shoulder of the main bunch). The timing is key, and many producers emphasise the importance of green-harvesting early in the season. For Noëmie Durantou Reilhac, she aims to have this done prior to véraison to avoid twisting the stems (which would impact sap flow) and damaging the skins of the remaining bunches. She’ll do a final pass through her vineyards just before harvest, but this is a method of sorting rather than impacting the ripeness of the grapes on the vine. “There’s a certain point where you can reduce fruit, say a month away from picking, but it won’t do anything,” says Myriad’s Mike Smith. Like many producers, he favours green-harvesting mid-véraison to drop anything that is behind, helping even the ripeness of the crop – as Bascaules does at Ch. Margaux. In 2023, several Burgundy producers highlighted having to do multiple passes to reduce the crop – doing what was sometimes referred to as a “pink” or “blue” harvest on top of a green harvest. Canopy management: A vine’s leaves are its engine – responsible for photosynthesis. The larger the canopy, the larger the engine, therefore trimming the vine’s canopy can help lower its vigour, while keeping a larger leaf area can help encourage vigour. This needs to be considered alongside airflow (to avoid disease pressure) and shading of the bunches (which could delay ripening). If the canopy isn’t balanced with the volume of fruit, it can also negatively impact fruit composition – especially the acid make-up and development of colour and phenolics. Ivan Massonnat (Belargus) explained that in 2022 and 2023, for example, he used a high trellis, allowing a larger leaf area, to capture maximum light and photosynthesis to fuel the vines; but in 2022 he did the opposite, wanting to reduce the size of the “sugar machine”. It has, he notes, become common for large canopies to be used alongside low yields, especially by producers in Burgundy, something he feels has gone too far at certain addresses: “You can kill a wine with concentration,” he says. Some argue that trimming the canopy can encourage it to grow further, while others want to retain a large canopy to encourage root growth (Olivier Lamy feels that the vine has the same amount of growth above and below ground, therefore wanting to retain his canopy to the roots to drive deep into the soil). Lamy is one of a cohort of producers using “tressage”, or braiding, to tame the canopy – a technique pioneered by Lalou Bize-Leroy. For her the aim is to avoid cutting the apex (or growing tip) which would otherwise encourage the growth of lateral shoots. Producers such as Charles Lachaux have taken this even further, training vines to a single stake (more common on the steep slopes of Priorat, Côte-Rôtie or the Mosel) and weaving the shoots into distinctive arches.  The relationship between yield and quality is undoubtedly a tricky one – and one that every producer I spoke to feels is deeply complex. We couldn’t touch on everything here (the tiny yields for botrytised sweet wines, for example, or typically higher yields used for sparkling wine), but there’s plenty to consider. While it remains clear that excessive yields can produce dilute wines, with so many variables play, it’s also clear that less isn’t always better. Read more Editorial

Burgundy’s vignerons were blessed with quantity in 2023, but – when it comes to making fine wine – how much is too much? We spoke to a host of top producers to find out if low yields really do mean better quality

Do low yields really mean better quality when it comes to wine? We talk to Ch. Margaux, Cerbaiona, Eglise-Clinet, Belargus, Dunn, Myriad and more to find out

Understanding yield and quality in wine

Yield and quality: is less really more?

I’m sitting opposite Rino Fontana, an Italian wine collector that Antonio Galloni named his Wine Personality of the Year in 2023. Fontana looks unassuming – like any other septuagenarian that you might find, cigarette in hand, knocking back an espresso in a sunny piazza. Sunglasses hang on a string around his neck, and occasionally he rifles through scraps of paper that seem to operate as a calendar and/or journal. I’m not sure what I was expecting, but it was perhaps someone a little more, well, suave. Fontana has been collecting wine since the 1980s and is renowned for his cellar, a treasure trove of remarkable vintages from Piedmont’s top producers. Indeed, Galloni has dubbed him “Il Professore” for his extensive knowledge of Italian wine – despite never having worked in the industry. As Fontana scrolls through pictures on his phone, recalling recent dinners, he rolls off names and vintages that would leave any wine-lover speechless. He grew up in the Oltrepò Pavese, where his father was a stonemason, but would buy grapes and make a little wine for the family. Fontana was sent to school in Valenza, a town known for its gold industry – and he started working in a gold factory in his late teens. Aged 24, he and his best friend opened their own jewellery workshop. It was the owner of a local restaurant in nearby Mortara who introduced Fontana to the real pleasures of wine, and a bottle of Conterno’s Monfortino that made him fall head over heels for Nebbiolo – the 1958 vintage, in fact. Since that first taste, he’s opened over 150 bottles (yes, really) of the 1958 Monfortino. It was that wine that prompted Fontana to start visiting producers – an adventure in self-education. At the time, people weren’t buying wine, and Italy’s winemakers were far from fashionable. He became friends with the likes of Giuseppe Rinaldi, Bruno Giacosa and Gianfranco Soldera, rapidly securing significant allocations of their wines when few others were showing interest. Producers, in turn, suggested he had a gift – unique in his ability to understand wines in barrel and foretell their future. Today, he covers around 80,000km a year visiting producers – but the vast majority of that mileage is in Piedmont, for Fontana drinks – and collects – little other than Nebbiolo. This one grape represents around 95% of his consumption, he says, with Barolo and/or Barbaresco on the menu every day. He always has the latest releases on hand in the fridge – even some basic Langhe Nebbiolo, but at least twice a week he’ll uncork something special from the 1960s or ’80s with wine-loving friends or producers. While Nebbiolo is one of many grapes to be declared “the king of wines”, for Fontana it really does reign supreme. When I ask why, marvelling at how he could drink so much of just one variety, he shrugs: “Nebbiolo is Nebbiolo.” When I push him, he says he loves its ageability, structure and elegance – something he feels you can’t find in Pinot Noir. He recalls a recent dinner with Galloni at Il Centro in Priocca, sharing a bottle of Domaine de la Romanée-Conti’s 2004 La Tâche alongside a 1947 Borgogno Barolo and 1989 Vigna Rionda from Giacosa. Both the Barolos, he says, grew over the dinner – while the La Tâche faded slowly. For him, Burgundy (even the world’s most sought-after bottles) is no match for Nebbiolo. That’s a controversial opinion – but Fontana is not a man short of views. He dismisses the wines of Cappellano and Accomasso, while he has firm beliefs on how Nebbiolo should be made, favouring traditional winemaking with old oak – not wanting to feel the wood in the wine. He argues that too many young producers are going to Burgundy and trying to echo that style in their wines, losing their Piedmontese identity. The resulting wines are, he feels, too technical, too clean. “Great wine can’t be perfect,” he says – suggesting that those imperfections are partly what makes wine feel alive. While the most established and famous producers dominate his collection, he also likes the wines from newer names such as Trediberri, Crissante and Cascina Baricchi. Beyond Nebbiolo, he’ll dabble in certain labels of Sangiovese – Soldera, for example will pass muster, as well as SanCarlo (a producer he feels rivals the former). Montevertine’s Le Pergole Torte would previously have been a prime choice, but now he’d choose Le Boncie’s Le Trame instead. He likes Valentini and Emidio Pepe, and used to buy Gravner but feels the style changed in 2004 so stopped. He sold his jewellery business in 2000 – dedicating his time entirely to wine – visiting producers, building his collection and selling to select parties (of which FINE+RARE is lucky enough to be one). Fontana has around 9,000 bottles in his collection today. He shows us a video of his cellar – intriguingly with many of the wines stored upright. Anything post 1990 is kept on its side, but older wines stand proud in his cellar – something which he argues is better once they reach a certain age, with the cork and humidity of the cellar more important in their preservation. It’s a remarkable collection, with incredible verticals of many wines. His access seems unparalleled – receiving larger allocations than many importers, given his historical ties. He is the only individual, for example, to receive an allocation of Rinaldi’s Brunate Cru – a wine that is otherwise kept exclusively for the family. Some of his most prized bottles are Giacosa’s 1964 Santo Stefano and magnums of 1970 Monfortino (“amazing” – he says), while he has a soft spot for the youthful 2015 Soldera. Now aged 73, Fontana seems just as enchanted by wine as when he first tasted that 1958 Monfortino. I ask him if there’s a wine he is still desperate to taste, a unicorn that he’s still hunting: the answer is no. He’s been able to try every vintage from the producers he loves. It’s a rare answer for a wine lover – but “Il Professore” isn’t your average wine collector. – Photography of Rino Fontana at Il Centro by Dan Deibel Explore a selection of top verticals from Fontana’s cellar, all Italian listings or read more Editorial

Friends with Vinous founder and critic Antonio Galloni, and with a cellar that will turn you green with envy, Rino Fontana is Italy’s most famous wine collector. We sat down with the man himself to find out more about his journey into wine, incredible collection and obsession with one grape  

Antonio Galloni’s Wine Personality of the Year 2023, Rino Fontana is Italy’s most famous wine collector – we met the man to talk about his cellar

Rino Fontana – the wine collector like no other

Rino Fontana: a collector like no other

It’s 20 years since Eduardo Chadwick gathered some of Europe’s most famous wine writers for a blind tasting – one to rival the famous 1976 Judgement of Paris (when California proved its wines could compete with – and beat – France’s best). Chadwick was convinced that critics were underestimating Chilean wines – for no reason other than snobbery against the nation. The Berlin Tasting pitched Chadwick’s top wines (Viñedo Chadwick, Seña and Don Maximiano Founder’s Reserve) against Bordeaux’s First Growths and a lone Super Tuscan (Antinori’s Solaia). Chadwick charged the late Steven Spurrier with running the event. “I never imagined that what happened was about to happen,” Chadwick tells me. To his and everyone else’s amazement, the 2000 Viñedo Chadwick took the top spot, followed by 2001 Seña, then 2000 Ch. Lafite Rothschild, and 2000 Ch. Margaux – tied equally in fourth place with 2000 Seña. Finally, there was proof that Chile’s wines deserved a place on the world stage.  But, for Chadwick, one watershed moment wasn’t enough. He repeated the tasting, first in São Paulo, then Tokyo – and onward, hosting the same blind tasting 22 times around the world, all with similarly spectacular results for his wines. It takes nerves of steel – and a certain amount of ego – to be willing to risk repeating such a tasting, and yet Chadwick was justly rewarded. His campaign is just one way in which he has forged a path for fine, Chilean wine – with a relentless, dogged determination.  Chadwick is the fifth generation of his family to make wine in Chile. Don Maximiano Errázuriz emigrated from the Basque country and was the first to plant vines in the Aconcagua Valley in 1870. He identified the location, 100km north of Santiago, with its cool ocean breezes, hot summers and rainy winters, as perfect for growing grapes. Operating under the motto of, “from the best land, the best wine”, he planted vines in this idyllic site, near Panquehue, and built a winery – that still stands today.  Gradually, the business grew – and it became the largest vineyard in the world owned by an individual, with 1,300 hectares under vine at its peak in the late 19th century. Despite this early prosperity, Chile’s wine industry didn’t continue to thrive. There was no export market and domestic consumption (which reached up to 80 litres per capita annually) was slashed by severe taxation, while political and economic turbulence, with communist then military rule, put not just the industry, but nation, in crisis. By the early 1980s, wine was cheaper than water and around half of the nation’s vines were ripped out.  It was onto this unstable scene that Eduardo Chadwick arrived. He had initially trained as an industrial engineer before deciding to focus on wine instead, going to study in Bordeaux under the legendary oenologist Emile Peynaud. His father bought the family winery back from the banks, and Chadwick started dusting away the cobwebs, re-opening Viña Errázuriz and – armed with new, technical knowledge – made the first vintage of Don Maximiano Founder’s Reserve, the property’s flagship wine, in 1984. The operation was still rudimentary – with rauli vats (a native hardwood), no temperature control and pergola vines planted on the fertile flats – but it was an early indication of what was possible. Tasting the wine four decades later, it’s held up remarkably well – with surprising vibrancy on the nose and a chiselled, savoury profile of pure Cabernet Sauvignon.  Gradually, Chadwick invested in equipment – stainless steel tanks, modern presses and barrels – and started to plant vineyards on slopes with poorer soils. Alongside this shift, pivotal elections in 1989 saw Chile become a democracy once more – and key figures from the world of wine visited. Soon entry-level wines were being exported by the likes of Oddbins and Victoria Wine. The doors had opened for Chilean wine. Robert Mondavi visited Chadwick in 1991 – and the two men hit it off, sharing an unrelenting drive to push their industry forward, and Mondavi recognised in Chile the potential he had seen in Napa in the 1960s. He knew that his partnership with Ch. Mouton Rothschild (Opus One) had been key to changing Napa’s reputation – and the duo hoped that their own joint venture might do the same for Chile: Seña (literally meaning “signal”) was born. Bob’s son, Tim Mondavi worked with Chadwick on the project and suggested looking for a site closer to the coast in the Aconcagua Valley, in search of even greater finesse, producing the first vintage in 1995.  And Chadwick didn’t stop there. His father had purchased an estate in the Alto Maipo in 1945, home to a polo field (Eduardo’s father, Alfonso, had captained the Chilean team for years). In 1992, Chadwick convinced his father to let him transform the polo field – with its pure gravel soils and 15˚C diurnal swing – into a vineyard, feeling it was perfect for Cabernet Sauvignon. Alfonso died the following year, but the first vintage of this project – Viñedo Chadwick, named in honour of his father – was made in 1999.   Chadwick knew the wines were good – but convincing the world of that fact was the challenge. He’s clear that Chile made a major error in churning out great-value, entry-level wines – good, but not fine wines – a price-point that came to define the nation. “That’s why it was very difficult to convince the audience that we can also produce world-class wines,” says Chadwick. “Chile had no recognition. We had no ratings, no Parker points, no Suckling points.” And so he set about changing that with the Berlin Tasting.  With that event’s market-shifting results (then echoed around the world), he’d created momentum for change. A decade later, he went on to break through another boundary: the 2014 Viñedo Chadwick became the first Chilean wine to earn 100 points (from James Suckling). Just last year, the 2021 vintage was the first Chilean wine rated 100 points by the Wine Advocate. When I sat down with him March this year, it was at an event paying tribute to the two decades that have passed since the Berlin Tasting – featuring early vintages from each estate, and their greatest successes. The 1998 Seña was a particular standout – a cool vintage that today is perfumed, elegant, bright and effortlessly long. Any doubters of Chilean wine were instantly quieted. And, as with the Berlin tasting, the event was being replicated around the globe – the campaign to champion Chilean wine never ending.  When Chadwick started in 1983, Viña Errázuriz had just 10 hectares of vineyard. Today, across their estates, Chadwick farms 900 hectares of vines. He bought out his siblings years ago, when he found they were more interested in dividends than growing and investing in the business. Now three of his four daughters are working alongside him – excited by the potential of coastal sites (where they make the Las Pizarras wines) and a new sparkling project. There has been no shortage of challenges along the way, but they’ve only fuelled Chadwick’s relentless pursuit of recognition for Chile and its wines. “Where we are today is beyond my wildest dreams,” he tells me, and yet it’s only because of his tireless ambition that Chilean wine has made it to this point. Fortunately, it looks like his children have inherited his determination – ready to rule over the next chapter of this epic story.  Explore all listings of Viña Errázuriz, Seña and Viñedo Chadwick or read more about Chile 

In the last 40 years, Eduardo Chadwick has single-handedly forged a place for Chile in the fine wine arena. Two decades after the pivotal Berlin Tasting, Sophie Thorpe sat down with the man himself to explore his legacy – and what lies ahead 

20 years after the Berlin Tasting, we sit down with Eduardo Chadwick – the man that created Chile’s first icon wines, Sena, Vinedo Chadwick and Errazuriz

Championing Chile – Eduardo Chadwick

Championing Chile: Eduardo Chadwick

Walking into the cooperage at Ch. Smith Haut Lafitte is like stepping back in time, filled with the smell of seasoned wood, an open fire and the same tools that barrel-makers have used for centuries. Few estates have the luxury of an in-house cooper. While producers inevitably work closely with the tonnelleries (barrel-making firms, such as François Frères, Stockinger and more), having an artisan on-site, working alongside the winemaking team to craft casks exclusively for your specific terroir is different. “It’s very important for the precision of the wine,” explains Cellar Master Yann Laudeho.  Florence and Daniel Cathiard, owners of the Pessac-Léognan estate, built a cooperage on-site almost 30 years ago, in 1995, and their current cooper, Yann Dez, has been working here since 2021. The Bordeaux native’s father was a metal worker, and Dez fell into the world of barrel-making entirely by accident – having a friend who was a tonnelier, and a job opening at an opportune moment. Before he knew it, Dez had learnt the trade from some of the best coopers in the country (including one who now makes the barrels at Ch. Margaux), and spending 15 years working under Didier Fesil. Fesil was the Cathiard family’s first cooper back in 1995, who went on to create his own small tonnellerie (Tonnellerie Bordelaise), and has been named the nation’s best “Master Cooper” – twice. Indeed, Fesil is still very involved with the estate, helping choose the wood for barrels and advising on all things oak; and it was Fesil who put Dez forward for the role at Smith Haut Lafitte.  “There are no books,” Dez says, when I ask about the art of barrel-making. “It’s passed on from tonnelier to tonnelier." The first evidence of coopering as a trade dates back to 900BC – with the craft passed down the generations ever since. “I continue the tradition,” Dez says, clearly with a sense of pride in this ancient, artisanal skill. But with the dust, noise and physical labour involved, tonnellerie schools, Dez tells me, are struggling to recruit young people. It’s common for coopers to have issues with their shoulders and ears (from the non-stop hammering) – and Dez himself has broken an elbow.  In theory, the process can be mechanised – but Dez is clear on how important it is to work by hand, and not just to preserve this ancient art. “I hear the nose, I feel the resistance,” he says. Each barrel, he explains, is different – with a slightly different number of staves and slightly different shape, all adapted according to the wood he’s working with. Selecting the right wood is key – “reading” it, he explains, looking at the grain to see where potential weaknesses are, understanding where will take the most pressure and placing each stave accordingly, ensuring not a drop can seep from the finished barrel. “It’s a job that is both physical, and at the same time requires thinking,” says Dez – and this combination is much of its allure for him.  Hearing the way Dez talks about barrels is fascinating; for him, they each have a unique personality. When I ask Dez how he knows he’s made a really good barrel, he shrugs: “On le sent.” (“You feel it.”) As you toast a barrel, he tells me, the scent of the smoke changes, releasing different aromas – something I smell as he works in front of me. Knowing when it’s spent the perfect amount of time over the fire is the secret – and it’s about more than just the smell, it’s a gut instinct that he can’t quite explain.  Smith Haut Lafitte sources oak from a range of forests, and are always trialling wood from different forests, toasts and doing blind tastings, although – after over 25 years – they know what works for their wine, and terroir. Cellar Master Laudeho explains that, for him, Tronçais and Jupilles are the best – “diamonds” that flawlessly complement their site. And that balance is key; the wood works for the wine, not the other way around.  It seems like a lonely job, I comment, hammering away in his tower – but it’s not something that bothers him. “I’m a bit of a perfectionist,” he tells me. Having only himself to depend on, and knowing that he can ensure each barrel meets his exacting standards, suits him. Indeed, he doesn’t even settle for standard tools – making most himself, custom-designed to suit the way he works. He talks me through a specific hammer that he made, and how it allows him to work better and more precisely, the wooden handle almost silken from the hours of use, shaped to his hand.   The lone electronic technology to have earned a place here are noise-cancelling headphones and a Marshall speaker. He’s a musician in his spare time, and an additional perk of working alone is that he gets to spend all day listening to music. “All the barrels I’ve made,” he says, “are made with music.” He avoids anything too modern or electronic, favouring old jazz, with some reggae, ska jazz and funk in the mix, depending on the day. While he doesn’t feel the music he listens to influences his coopering, he suspects his mood does – and music is a big part of that.  Woodwork is much more than a job for Dez. I spy a beautiful chest alongside his speaker, and it’s one that he made. He has a workshop at home too, spending his free time making everything from guitar stands and toys to chandeliers – anything, he says, that isn’t straight, and therefore can’t really be done by a machine.  It’s amazing watching him work – in the same way as coopers have for centuries – with a natural intuition, ease and precision. There’s definitely something musical to it, a craft that has its own rhythm. He makes around 300 barrels a year, and they may not be soloists – but each one contributes their own note to that year’s symphony.  Explore all current listings of Ch. Smith Haut Lafitte or read more about Bordeaux 

Wooden barrels line most of the finest wine cellars around the world – and many are made by hand. Continuing our series taking you behind the scenes in Bordeaux, we ducked into the cooperage at Smith Haut Lafitte to find out more about this special craft

We visited Pessac-Leognan’s Smith Haut Lafitte to talk to the wine estate’s master cooper, Yann Dez – and find out all about the art of barrel-making

Meeting Smith Haut Lafitte’s Master Cooper

Working to the beat: Smith Haut Lafitte’s Master Cooper

En primeur is the system of buying unfinished, young wine, essentially as “futures”. The wines are sold while still maturing in barrel, and shipped once bottled to wine-lovers around the world. Bordeaux pioneered the system, and it remains important in the region, although en primeur has now spread and wines from Burgundy, the Rhône, Italy, the US, Australia and beyond are now all sold in this way. But how did it start? 
While consumers have only been purchasing wine en primeur since the 1980s, wine has been sold “unfinished” to merchants for centuries. Traditionally wine was not bottled or sold by the châteaux; once the wine went into barrel it would be transferred to négociants who would age the wine in their warehouses in the Chartrons district of Bordeaux, and be responsible for their sale and distribution – an unseemly business that didn’t sit well with the noble château-owners. The wine would then either be bottled in Bordeaux or shipped on in barrel to markets like the UK, and bottled for sale to consumers there. 
While Bordeaux might seem glossy and polished today, with its grand châteaux, manicured lawns and immaculate wineries, the region’s wine industry has not always been so prosperous. In the mid-19th century, mildew arrived and devastated much of Europe’s vineyards, followed by the arrival of phylloxera, killing vines and forcing producers to, eventually, replant. When winegrowers had recovered from Mother Nature’s attacks, the First and Second World Wars arrived, bringing further economic challenges. Producers needed ways to finance their operation, while merchants were always on the lookout for a way to secure stock and the best price possible. 
As producers struggled, they resorted to selling grapes while still on the vine, “sur souche”, agreeing a price based on the previous vintage and gambling on the final quality of the crop. Sur souche sales continued into the 1960s – eventually waning after producers were burnt by the low-yielding, excellent and woefully undervalued 1961s. When times were particularly hard, châteaux – even the most fabled addresses – committed to selling their crop for up to 10 years at a fixed price to a merchant, tying themselves into an “abonnement”, guaranteeing a base level of income, but losing out on potential profits if or when prices rose. 
Up to this point, early sales of wine (or grapes) had only been to négociants in Bordeaux, but the 1973 oil crisis prompted a shift. The subsequent crash left producers, négociants and every layer of the wine trade in dire need of funds. Having struggled to sell the 1972 vintage, châteaux didn’t have the money to invest in the production of the challenging ’73 and ’74 vintages. The 1975 growing season arrived with more favourable conditions and the wines showed promise; samples were shipped to London for buyers to sample and sell.  
En primeur really took off, however, with Bordeaux’s 1982 vintage. Robert Parker had started writing his newsletter in 1978, introducing the world to his 100-point rating system for wine. He came out early with a firm endorsement of the 1982s, and urging consumers to buy them; when others were less convinced. Many, especially in the US, took the opportunity to buy up the wines en primeur – and were duly rewarded, with the vintage now considered legendary. 
The early sale of the wines eased cash-flow problems for producers and négociants, while merchants and consumers benefited from being able to secure stock of wines at a favourable price. As en primeur sales grew, properties became much more profitable businesses, able to funnel investment back into their vineyards and wineries. At the same time, ownership of estates was shifting. In 1981, inheritance taxes doubled, making it harder for families to keep châteaux and companies – from insurance to luxury goods and everything in between started buying up properties. While some corporations focused on quantity rather than quality, many arrived with the necessary finances to push quality forward. The 1990s saw many estates introduce second wines, allowing them to further elevate quality of their Grand Vin, and Parker’s influence continued to grow. All of these elements combined to see Bordeaux as a region and its wines evolving at pace – giving even more reason to secure a new vintage up front. 
For consumers, en primeur provided a way to secure the most sought-after wines at the best prices. In top vintages, the wines offered significant returns too – and speculation ensued. The wine market expanded, with new interest from Japanese and Chinese buyers. The market exploded when Hong Kong abolished tax on wine in 2008. The frenzy built and prices rose – with the top-rated 2009 and 2010 vintages hitting new, inflated highs. En primeur no longer offered the safe return it had. The bubble burst. 
Châteaux, merchants and collectors were all stung, and there is now greater awareness of potential inflation in the market. This consciousness and understanding has settled the market and made en primeur relevant once more, although fortunately without the speculation of previous vintages. 
In 2012, Ch. Latour announced it was abandoning the en primeur system – deciding instead to offer wines only when they are ready to drink, with 2011 the last vintage to be offered as futures. It was a significant blow for en primeur to see a First Growth abandon the system, but while there was a fear this step could open the floodgates, no one else has yet followed the First Growth. 
Today, en primeur remains significant for Bordeaux. In April of each year, the world’s wine trade descends on Bordeaux to taste the latest vintage (harvested the previous year). Organised by the Union des Grands Crus de Bordeaux, the “Primeurs” week is an impressive publicity machine, focusing attention on the region – and while the spotlight might be on the very top properties, there’s a clear halo effect for the entire region. 
There has been a move for estates to hold back a little more stock, some of which may be offered ex-château at a later date, but most Classed Growths still sell between 70 and 90% of their entire production en primeur.  
The benefits for Bordeaux and its châteaux are clear, but what is in it for those wanting to buy the wine? Many of the reasons to buy en primeur are unchanged. There are no guarantees that you’ll make a financial return with en primeur, but inevitably wines do become rarer with time; as wines enter their drinking window, they become more desirable (and often increase in value), and over time they become scarcer, as bottles are uncorked and the finite supply of a specific vintage dwindles. As such, en primeur can offer a useful way to secure stock of wines, particularly those from small, sought-after properties which can be near-impossible to obtain after release. 
Buying en primeur also offers flawless provenance. The wine will move from the estate to wherever you store your wine, and then once more when it is withdrawn for consumption, ensuring optimal maturation conditions, and retaining maximum value should you decide to sell rather than drink. An additional luxury of buying en primeur is being able to buy any format; as the wine isn’t yet bottled, you can purchase half-bottles, magnums, jeroboams, imperials or any other size you desire easily. 
While critic scores certainly still influence the sale of wines, no single voice has the power that Robert Parker had in his heyday. Today, there are more critics than ever before – with individual writers breaking away from larger publications like the Wine Advocate to create their own platform, each with their own tastes, offering different perspectives on the vintage – arguably giving consumers more information than ever before. 
It’s little surprise that other regions have adopted the system, with Burgundy in particular embracing en primeur. Opportunities undoubtedly remain – as a vintage like 2019, sold in the midst of 2020 and the Covid-19 pandemic shows. Faced with an uncertain market, producers dropped their prices and consumers flooded to buy Bordeaux’s wines. The vintage turned out to be spectacular, with buyers justly rewarded for investing in the wines. When a vintage is good, and the pricing right, there really is nothing like the palpable buzz and excitement that the Primeurs season brings to the world of wine.  
Find out more about en primeur, including how it works, or browse all wine currently available en primeur

Each year, key fine wine regions offer their wines en primeur, or as “wine futures”, but it hasn’t always worked this way. Sophie Thorpe dives into the origins and history of the system – and what it means for wine-lovers today

En primeur is the system of buying wine futures: we delve into its origins, history and what it means today for chateaux, negociants merchants and wine-lovers

What is en primeur? Explaining wine futures

What is en primeur: the origins of wine futures

In 1991, Jean-Luc Thunevin made the first vintage of Valandraud. In the workshop next to his house, he produced just 100 cases of wine from tiny yields, de-stemming and punching it down by hand and ageing it in 100% new French oak. Although it didn’t have a name yet, the garagiste movement had been born.  As the Super Tuscans had in Italy, these maverick bottlings, operating outside the official classification, rocked the world of wine – especially in the conservative heartland of Bordeaux. At the same time, the likes of Harlan and Colgin were starting to prove the power of Cabernet Sauvignon in Napa. Meanwhile on the East Coast, a lawyer called Robert Parker had already gathered a loyal following for his newsletter, offering independent advice and a novel scoring system. The internet was just getting started. Everything in the world of wine was changing.  “In the 1990s there was formidable energy and consumers who were ready to accept something new,” says Thunevin. But the Bordeaux wine trade was stuck in the Middle Ages, he says; it was aristocratic, closed – and one reason why the garagistes, a collection of outsiders, caused quite such a stir. Thunevin himself had been in banking, while Jonathan Maltus (Le Dôme) was a British businessman and Stephan von Neipperg (La Mondotte) a German interloper. With the challenging conditions of 1991, the first vintage of Valandraud had little impact. He made a tiny volume of red, and then a rosé de saignée that he gave away to friends. “L’histoire, c’est ’92,” Thunevin tells me, almost whimsically. The wine, a product of much more favourable growing conditions, put him on the map. “I created a revolution,” he says today. The 1991 Valandraud was released to négociants for 13€; the 2022 came out at 118€.  It was Michel Bettane who coined the term “vin de garage”, sneeringly suggesting that these new-fangled wines could be made in someone’s garage. But, as Jean-Luc Thunevin told me, “By talking about me, they made me exist.” Without such outrage from wine’s more traditional core, the garagistes likely wouldn’t have had the same success. Combine Bettane’s throwaway comment with the rise of garage music in the US and UK, and the movement gained an accidental cool-factor – but that’s all changed now.  “I don’t think anybody wants to admit they were a garagiste anymore,” Jonathan Maltus – the Englishman who created Le Dôme in 1996 – says. He looks back on the time with relative fondness, however. He’d arrived in Bordeaux in 1994, buying Ch. Teyssier, having sold his petrochemical business and decided after a stint in Cahors that he needed to be in the “Formula One” of wine, making for Bordeaux. It was an English wine merchant who told him how a single-vineyard Pomerol called Le Pin was causing a stir – one of a handful of “cuvée wines” that were becoming incredibly popular. As a canny businessman, he decided to give it a go himself.  “It was really exciting – and there was no budget,” Maltus says frankly, explaining how the movement rapidly became a game of one-upmanship. They would instantly snap up any new machinery or equipment, pushing their concepts further and further to out-do each other. Green-harvesting and picking only the ripest berries in multiple passes was de rigueur; the vines often stripped of their leaves to expose the fruit to the sunshine and maximise ripeness (something climate change has put paid to). Yields were consistently low, with over 30hl/ha considered too much to produce the requisite concentration. Maltus explains how the introduction of double-sorting and cold-soaking was radical – both expensive tools, with the latter requiring protective gas and the ability to chill tanks. He would put the wine into one set of new French oak barrels for malolactic fermentation, before transferring the wine to another batch of new oak for ageing. The resulting wines were bold, rich and lavish. “I like to think of it as a kind of Vivienne Westwood period,” Maltus says.  Ask any of the garagistes who inspired them and they’ll point to, among others, Le Pin. Although owner Jacques Thienpont firmly believes Le Pin is not – and never was – a garage wine; he feels that it is sometimes mistakenly seen as one because it was so successful at the time. Ironically, the wine was originally made in a garage, from just one hectare of vines. It was the sensuality of the wine that inspired Jean-Luc Thunevin, he tells me. He visited Le Pin several times and Thienpont told him that wine was all about the quality of the soil, rather than winemaking. “In the cellar, there are no secrets,” Thienpont says. Thienpont wasn’t Thunevin’s only advisor; Alain Vauthier of Ausone happened to be a school friend, and helped the amateur winemaker.  This tension between terroir and technique is at the heart of the garagiste movement. Jean-Luc Thunevin tells me how Valandraud was not a garage wine, but a “garden wine” – from 300 vines he planted on 0.6 hectares, a single site captured in 300 bottles. For Stephan von Neipperg, who made the first vintage of La Mondotte in 1996, from 4.5 hectares, “It’s a terroir… without an outstanding terroir, you cannot make an outstanding wine.” The garagistes, in his mind, by contrast were about “making the wine easier to understand – round, ripe, sometimes too ripe, extracted” – it’s a term he assigns to the likes of Ch. Gracia – first made in 1997, in a back-alley of Saint-Emilion.  Whether you are convinced these wines were true expressions of site or not, they were a direct contrast to the Médoc Classed Growths – where vast swathes of land were used to create a blend each year. Was it a reaction to the Left Bank’s dependence on blending, maybe even a complacency? Perhaps, but it was also a consequence of what each of them could afford; none of them, at first, had the cash to buy any more land. Thunevin’s methodology, for example, wasn’t idealistic; he had to do everything by hand because he didn’t have a tractor or any other equipment, splurging on new barrels alone, and turning a profit for the first time only in 1995.  It’s hard to untangle the movement from Parker’s influence – but few of the early renditions earned the big scores one expects and associates with these vins de garage. Le Dôme, for example, only earned 100 points in 2010 – long after Maltus had started reining in the style, La Mondotte in 2009. Although 1992 Valandraud kickstarted the movement, Parker only gave it 87-88 points when he first rated it in February 1994. Time blurs lines, inevitably – and, although it’s undeniable that Parker’s palate aligned with plush, polished styles, the truth around his influence is more complicated.   “We realised that the whole thing was just becoming a parody of itself,” Maltus says. He points to 2002 a real turning point, but it was only from 2008 that he stopped double oaking, reduced the proportion of new oak to 80%, and more recently started picking earlier. It’s the same across the spectrum, with many of these rebel estates now part of the formal classification system – absorbed into the establishment.  The instigator Jean-Luc Thunevin was branded Bordeaux’s “bad boy” for having challenged the status quo. It’s a reputation that he worked hard to keep – continually pushing forward (indeed, he even makes wine under the Bad Boy name today). Asking what prompted him to create Valandraud – and make it so differently, he says, “I have always been out of my mind. I always wanted to do things that were a bit shocking.”  Today, Bordeaux has more competitors than ever before, with a world of fine wine that is now truly global. Thunevin feels it’s a region in crisis – in need of another bad boy to take the baton. He was an outsider with nothing but a romantic dream of making wine. Whether you like what he did or not, he changed Bordeaux for good. “Les rêves sont nécessaires à notre équilibre,” he tells me – dreams are essential for our balance. The garage movement was just one chapter in Bordeaux’s lengthy history, but perhaps it’s time for another wave of disruptors – after all, they may just be the key to its long-term survival.  Browse all Bordeaux listings or read more about Bordeaux 

When it comes to wine, little has changed in Bordeaux for centuries – but in the 1990s a group of outsiders shook things up: the garagistes. Sophie Thorpe talks to three of the movement’s leading figures about its legacy – and what it means for Bordeaux today

Talking to Valandraud, Le Dome, La Mondotte and Le Pin about Bordeaux’s garagiste movement and what it means for Bordeaux today

The legacy of Bordeaux’s garagistes

Disrupt and disturb: the legacy of Bordeaux’s garagistes

I was hesitant about meeting Ivan Massonnat. The man who created Domaine Belargus seemed to fill easy stereotypes. A background in private equity. Lived in Paris. A passion for wine – and a dream to make it himself. Big scores and some pretty punchy prices for a brand-new estate from the Loire. Reading between the lines, I feared there was a lot of cash and possibly too much polish. Thankfully, I was wrong.  Created in 2018 and based in Anjou, Domaine Belargus has rapidly become one of fine wine’s hottest new names. The first wines were released in 2021, in the midst of the global pandemic, but had already earned serious acclaim. Yohan Castaing wrote in Decanter, “Remember this name, as its production should meet with resounding critical success in the coming years.” The wines received glowing reviews in Wine Spectator and the Wine Advocate – where Stephan Reinhardt declared it “one of the most spectacular new entries in the history of [the publication]”, granting a coveted 100-point score for its 2018 Quarts de Chaume Ultra. But that was just the beginning. Ivan Massonnat is a man with big plans – both for his own wines, and the region as a whole.  Wine was a part of life for Massonnat from a young age – with his grandfather farming a small vineyard in their village in the Savoie. But, despite helping at harvest time each year, he didn’t end up drinking wine until he was 20, when he was “instantly hooked”, he says. He fell in love with Burgundy and the concept of “vin de lieu” – wine of place.  Massonnat made his money in private equity, based in Paris but travelling the world, where fine dining – and fine wine lists – only fed his terroir obsession. Two decades ago he was looking for a country house for his family, and – not having a car – settled on the Loire. “The more I was spending time there, the more I realised that the region was totally misunderstood,” he says. Prior to the upheaval of the French Revolution and the subsequent arrival of mildew and phylloxera, the Loire was one of France’s most prestigious wine regions – home to the nation’s kings, the fruit of its vines were the royal court’s natural choice. Post-phylloxera, however, quality was scrapped in favour of quantity. “Its image started to blur,” says Massonnat.  Combine the region’s history with its two great, native varieties – Chenin Blanc and Cabernet Franc – and Massonnat saw “an incredible diamond in the rough”. Wine had become an increasingly large part of his life – tasting widely and visiting producers as much as possible, especially in Burgundy where vignerons such as Philippe Pacalet and Thibault Liger-Belair friends and mentors. But it wasn’t just a hobby – Massonnat was starting to think this could be more, the adventure that lay beyond the world of finance.  As the adage goes, the world of wine is a brilliant way to make a small fortune – provided you start out with a large one. Massonnat, however, didn’t underestimate the challenges and set about getting to grips with the mechanics of the business. “It started really to become a project 10 years ago,” he says – talking to importers, consultants, journalists and merchants. And, perhaps unsurprisingly given his successful career, Massonnat wasn’t looking to make any wine – he was determined to create something exceptional.  After a failed attempt to buy a Chinon estate in 2015, he turned his attention to great Chenin Blanc sites in Anjou Noir, between the Layon and Loire rivers – low-yielding hillsides where producers were struggling to make money and consequently there was land to buy. More than just availability, it was here that Massonnat saw great potential. The area’s dark, schist soils (cause for the “noir” in the region’s name) were littered with tiny appellations, echoing those of Burgundy, with a much hillier landscape, and the only Premier and Grand Cru vineyards in the region.  Between 2016 and 2018, Massonnat started visiting every vineyard he could find – looking for the exceptional. Then the local winemaker Patrick Baudouin introduced him to Jo Pithon – a legend of the Loire. Pithon had been making wine since 1978, a pioneer of organic farming, crafting fine dry and sweet wines – but the talented vigneron was by no means a businessman. By the early 2000s, his lack of commercial knowhow lost him the rights to his name, along with the majority of his vineyards – all but one plot, the Coteau des Treilles.  Massonnat met Pithon at the Angers wine fair in 2018; they got on well enough and he arranged to see Pithon’s vineyards the following day. The next morning, it was snowing and he regretted his decision . But then, at 8.32am on 6th February 2018, “It’s as if I was struck by lightning,” Massonnat says. Pithon had brought him to Coteau des Treilles. Long farmed organically, it has slopes at a gradient of 70%, embedded in a natural reserve, with a Mediterranean microclimate – and Massonnat knew instantly it was what he had been looking for. He bought the Pithon-Paillé operation that Jo Pithon had created a decade earlier.  Luck continued to be on Massonnat’s side – and he bought two other vineyards over the next six months, adding to his collection of prime sites. He managed to buy a quarter of the Quarts de Chaume appellation – the only Grand Cru vineyards in the region – which amazingly had been on the market for 10 years. “Nobody wanted to buy it… They were looking at it as a sweet wine terroir. But actually, a great terroir is a great terroir… you will do dry wines that are quite exceptional,” Massonnat explains. Then he snapped up a parcel in Savennières – the only plot to have been sold in the last seven years.  He hired a young team and Pithon stayed on to consult – and the real work began. “Belargus is a 100-year project. Everything we do, we have that horizon,” Massonnat says. The vines are all organically certified, but they’re now working towards biodynamic accreditation. Yields are low, and they’re trying gradually to increase them to around 35hl/ha in a good vintage (currently the highest they’ve managed is 29hl/ha). “Our obsession is to have the right maturity,” Massonnat explains. To battle Chenin Blanc’s natural heterogeneity, they pick in multiple passes, minimum two or three but up to six, depending on the year – and that is just for the dry wines. The general approach is minimalist – with stainless steel and mainly larger, old oak, indigenous yeast, letting malolactic fermentation happen (or not), keeping wines on the lees and using only essential levels of sulphur. A new winery is being planned to take things to the next level, with, for example, a Coquard press (allowing especially gentle pressing, commonly used in Champagne).  The project is about expressing the different terroirs of this corner of Anjou Noir. The first release (which sold almost instantly given the hype from the critics, with 80% exported) consisted of 14 cuvées – nine dry wines and five sweet, focusing on nine specific plots across the estate’s vineyards. The dry wines are powerful, tightly wound and intense – as Massonnat says, “It’s not wine for every day,” comparing them to white Hermitage or Corton-Charlemagne, wines that need food and time. Although 90% of production is dry, Massonnat confesses, “We are obsessed with sweet wines.” These, he feels, are what will really set Anjou Noir on the world stage – if, perhaps, what he calls “the sugar pandemic” ever stops.   With Massonnat’s finance background comes a flexibility that few others have. He hopes to hold all the wines back four years eventually, but for now it is between three and four – and he was able to release the 2020s before the exceptional 2019s. It also allowed him to set prices unusually high compared to his neighbours. “I had the luxury to make that choice for the region,” he explains. “I wanted to break the glass ceiling.” And although he thought it would take time – his first release proved that there were plenty of people ready to snap up the value that these wines offered, including many of those now priced out of Burgundy.  And this is his real dream – for the Loire to be recognised as Burgundy is, as “a tier-one region which any collector needs to have in its cellar, that needs to be understood”. It’s easy to imagine other producers might have bristled at an outsider’s arrival, pitching their very first wines at unheard-of prices; but Massonnat is intent on leading the crusade for the entire region, not just Domaine Belargus. He volunteered to run the Paulée d’Anjou – a celebration of the region’s wines – in 2019, and made it bigger and better. In 2021, he became co-president of the Quarts de Chaume appellation, alongside Marie Guégniard from Domaine de la Bergerie. Together they are fighting for the appellation to permit both dry and sweet wines, as Savennières technically can, and Quarts de Chaume could until 1996. “Anjou was a dirty word. And look at the revolution now,” he says.  Like the precious blue butterfly that gives its name to the Belargus estate, Massonnat isn’t happy sitting still – and he’s already got another project – having had the chance to buy the Chinon estate he’d originally had his eye on in 2015. The best wine he ever tasted was a Chinon, a 1989 from Charles Joguet. “There was a whole civilisation in this wine,” he told me, trying to explain how moving the experience had been. There’s no doubt that Massonnat is a canny businessman, but his vision is extraordinary – and one that he seems set to realise.  Explore all current listings of Domaine Belargus or read more Editorial 

Since it was created in 2018, Domaine Belargus has become a name to watch. Sophie Thorpe sat down with Ivan Massonnat, the man behind the project, to find out more about the Anjou estate and his vision for the region

With top reviews for its first releases, Anjou estate Domaine Belargus has become a name to watch. We sat down with founder Ivan Massonnat to find out more

Talking to Domaine Belargus’s Ivan Massonnat

The archangel of Anjou: Ivan Massonnat

It’s easy to sneer at Sauvignon Blanc. Its success has been its downfall. It’s one of the most popular varieties planted around the world – coming in just behind Airén (grown widely for distillation, rather than wine) and Chardonnay. In New Zealand alone – a nation that has fully tied its cart to Sauvignon Blanc – 26,559 of its 41,603 hectares of vines are dedicated to the grape (for context, the entirety of Burgundy represents a little over 28,000 hectares). It accounts for over 86% of the nation’s wine exports (the next most exported variety is Pinot Noir, at less than 4%). And yet, wine cognoscenti are inclined to dismiss it.  The variety’s historic heartland is the Loire, where it was first recorded in the 16th century, but has since spread rampantly around the globe, finding its way into almost every corner. Indeed, there’s even a remote stretch of Burgundy dedicated to the grape (Saint-Bris). It also gave us Cabernet Sauvignon, of which it is a parent, along with Cabernet Franc – which is some legacy.  In her benchmark Vines, Grapes & Wines, Jancis Robinson MW describes Sauvignon Blanc as “aggressively recognisable”. With descriptors such as cat’s pee, gooseberry, passionfruit, capsicum, grapefruit and cut-grass stereotypical, it’s hard to disagree – but there’s much more to the grape. Today, the distinctive variety is responsible for the flinty styles of Sancerre and Pouilly-Fumé, more waxy, textured Bordeaux Blanc (where it is most often – but not always – blended with Semillon and aged in oak), the exuberantly pungent styles of Marlborough, richer, weightier northern Italian examples (not to mention many with extended skin contact) – and everything in between.  Ch. Margaux’s Pavillon Blanc is one of the most famous examples of Sauvignon Blanc – and rare in Bordeaux (at the top end of the category, at least) for not including any Semillon, which has never been planted on the site. Their archive has records back to the 18th century of a “vin de sauvignon” from the property. Tasting the wine, it’s always hard to believe it hasn’t been rounded out by its local partner – and this, Aurélien Valance, says is all to do with achieving the perfect level of ripeness.  “When [people] think Sauvignon Blanc, they think about unripe Sauvignon Blanc. When it is ripe, it can have very complex and floral perfume – but the problem is that it is very difficult to get it ripe and keep enough acidity,” the Deputy Managing Director explains. Working with old vines (around 50 years old), low yields and strict selection allows Ch. Margaux, however, to produce an exceptional, age-worthy white – one that “smells of Sauvignon Blanc – but not the Sauvignon Blanc that people are used to”. For Christian Patat – the winemaker behind L’Età Più Bella and Ronco del Gnemiz, who also worked at Miani – the perfect harvest date is key to giving Sauvignon “verticality”, especially in Friuli where the wines are naturally bigger and richer than those from the Loire. If you pick too late, it becomes all about the variety – rather than the site. For him, Sauvignon Blanc is an “amplifier of different soils”, which is why he has ended up making six different single-site expressions with his wife at Ronco del Gnemiz, all made the same way so that the terroir shines through in each. Omri Ram – of Société Civile du Ch. Lafleur – echoes this idea, feeling there’s a particularly narrow window for picking Sauvignon Blanc, before the variety becomes a caricature of itself. He argues there is a “valley between two aromatic peaks” in which Sauvignon Blanc must be harvested, a window that lasts maximum three days, but as little as 20 hours in a hot vintage – so it’s essential to watch your fruit carefully, and make sure it’s on the right soils (with clay to help retain freshness and avoid hydric stress).   Patat – like the team at Ch. Margaux – is fortunate to farm old Sauvignon vines, between 40 and 50 years in age. This is ancient for the variety, which is naturally vigorous and very susceptible to Eutypa and Esca (grapevine trunk diseases which slowly kill the vine), meaning finding vines above the age of 30 is increasingly rare. Marco Simonit – the man behind the Simonit & Sirch method and master pruner to the world’s leading producers – feels that vine age, however, is key to making a “vin de lieu” (a wine of place) – and therefore combatting the onset of disease is essential for crafting great Sauvignon Blanc. He notes how it’s not just that Sauvignon (referenced affectionately as “this guy” during our conversation) seems to be more inclined to develop Eutypa/Esca, but it suffers more when diseased – showing its symptoms much more than other vines, as is most clearly seen in Bordeaux where it is farmed side-by-side with Semillon.  “I think we need to reconsider the spacing and architecture of the vines,” Simonit says. He feels that these older vineyards have survived thanks to their wider spacing, allowing each vine more room to sprawl naturally. Robert Mondavi’s I Block is a prime example – the plot of Sauvignon Blanc in To Kalon planted in the mid-1940s. These untrellised, freestanding tree-like plants stand proud and sparse, producing wine that – in Mark de Vere MW’s words – offer “a different type of complexity, elegance”, yielding just half a ton an acre. Simonit is convinced that the increased vine density of the last 30 years has contributed to the higher incidence of grapevine trunk diseases, and this type of “dynamic” architecture, exemplified by the unfashionable California sprawl, may be the solution to Sauvignon Blanc’s short life-span, helping minimise pruning cuts and giving it the space it needs – but does need to be adapted to the individual site and climate.   Andy Erickson – winemaker at Favia and star consultant – now makes wine in To Kalon (under the To Kalon Vineyard Company label) – but has fond memories of I Block, as he would trespass to taste the Sauvignon Blanc at harvest time – loving the flavour of the grape just on the cusp of harvest. He was the one who suggested planting Sauvignon Blanc at Screaming Eagle – which produces a tiny amount (30-50 cases only) of incredibly sought-after Sauvignon. There was a tiny corner of the vineyard with more alluvial, clay soils – a site that wouldn’t produce a Screaming-Eagle-grade red, so he suggested it be used for Sauvignon Blanc and Musqué (an aromatic clone of the variety, also planted at Eisele Vineyard – where it represents 80% of the vineyard). “The challenge with Sauvignon Blanc is you really need to plant it on Cabernet Sauvignon ground to make the best wines, and so it takes someone who’s really passionate – or maybe a little crazy to do that,” Erickson says.  While the Loire’s top wines have always been accepted as fine wine, as with top white Bordeaux, Sauvignon Blanc under its own name didn’t make it big until the late 20th century. Robert Mondavi shifted perceptions in California – but only by rebranding the variety. In the late 1960s, at a time when most Sauvignon Blanc in America was low quality and sweet, he created Fumé Blanc – legally registering the term as a synonym for Sauvignon Blanc with the TTB (Alcohol and Tobacco Tax and Trade Bureau). With its European feel (inspired of course by Pouilly-Fumé), he made dry, serious Sauvignon Blanc – and, at the top end, fermented the wine in oak. At the time, it was radical – and soon the wines earned international acclaim.  Meanwhile, something was going on Down Under. David Hohnen – who had just won a Jimmy Watson trophy for his Cabernet Sauvignon at Cape Mentelle, Margaret River – was visited by a handful of travelling Kiwi winemakers. They left him with a bottle of something new, a Sauvignon Blanc (which had only been planted for the first time in New Zealand in 1973). “He hadn’t tasted anything like it before,” Jim White, Cloudy Bay’s Technical Director, tells me. Hohnen happened to have a Kiwi cellar hand at the time, and asked him to bring back more Sauvignon when he went home for Christmas. In 1984, Hohnen went to New Zealand. He persuaded Kevin Judd – then winemaker at Selaks – to come make wine for him. They couldn’t find Sauvignon Blanc at first, so the first vintage in 1984 was a Marlborough Semillon. The following vintage, they bought a truckload of Sauvignon Blanc from Marlborough, and ferried it all the way up to Gisborne to make the wine.  With such a small population, machine harvesting was the only option in New Zealand – and this, combined with the additional skin contact from the fruit’s minimum 12-hour journey to Gisborne, extracted more tannin than they’d wanted, but also thiol precursors – the compounds responsible for Sauvignon’s pungent aromas. Hohnen didn’t put “New Zealand” on the front label, feeling people wouldn’t take it seriously. By 1986, they had built their own winery (having persuaded an angling-loving Scot to stump up a million dollars to fund the project, on the basis that he’d have access to the best trout fishing in the world). The vineyards needed work – and Hohnen’s experience was key, bringing knowledge of canopy management, reducing water and nitrogen and reducing yields. The wines took off, and Cloudy Bay was born.  For White, vineyard location is the foundation of top Sauvignon Blanc – needing stony, free-draining soils to contain the variety’s natural vigour, hence why they prefer the heart of the Wairau Valley. Combine this with enough leaf plucking to allow for sufficient airflow, but avoid over-exposing the fruit, and this allows them to harvest ripe fruit that still has beautiful acidity – echoing Valance’s views at Ch. Margaux. The important thing for them is to avoid the “big green monster” – ensuring they have no methoxypyrazines (green compounds), which happen to be some of the most stable compounds during maturation, and don’t disappear with time in bottle.  In New Zealand, the variety has been a victim of its own success – shoehorned as crisp, fresh and nothing more. And while that style brings undeniable joy, there are an increasing number of wines being made with wild yeast and oak to produce a less exuberant and primary style – such as Dog Point’s Section 94 and Greywacke’s Wild Sauvignon. In the Loire, it seems to be increasingly common to see oak, while in Bordeaux, there’s a shift away from, or toward reducing the use of, wood. As Pierre-Olivier Clouet of Cheval Blanc told me, in the past white Bordeaux was “too green, too excessive, too much, too oaky, too fat… too boring” – he feels that the answer isn’t necessarily to reduce the proportion of new oak, but to increase the size of barrels and age the wine longer, so that the oak adds a silkiness, density and bitterness to the finish – but not to the aromatics.   A common accusation of Sauvignon Blanc is that it doesn’t age – something many feel is a prerequisite for “fine” wine. But that simply isn’t true. If you’ve never tasted old Marlborough Sauvignon, you’re missing out. I had a bottle of 1999 Cloudy Bay a few years ago – and it was extraordinary. White, who has tasted many more mature vintages from the iconic estate than me, describes it as a little like old Semillon or Loire Chenin – developing toasty, honeyed notes, yet it retains the overt freshness and expressiveness of the distinctive style. Ch. Margaux was recently reconditioning their stocks of Pavillon Blanc, and Valance had the opportunity to taste vintages back to 1926 – almost all of which he says were fabulous. He feels it ages at least 20-30 years, and more in top years.  Today, things have come full circle – Sauvignon Blanc is a brand of its own, and Robert Mondavi is even dropping the “Fumé Blanc” phrasing from its more entry-level bottlings of the variety. But, despite this and the undeniable quality of the wines, Sauvignon Blanc never quite seems to steal the limelight. “There’s a glass ceiling for Sauvignon Blanc,” White says. “It’s about 93 points.” The Cloudy Bay team was delighted when their oaked, limited-edition Te Koko cuvée earned 95 points in Decanter last year – but it’s the exception, rather than the rule. And even though they’ve had wines score higher than Pavillon Blanc, they’ll rarely be considered in the same category as either those, or the likes of the Loire’s Dagueneau and Vatan. “It’s too easy for people to understand, it makes it too enjoyable – and therefore it’s no longer the coveted thing that you have to have years of education to appreciate,” White says.  In an age of unicorn-hunting, “popular” can be the ultimate insult. And yet there’s a reason that so many people have fallen for the charms of Sauvignon Blanc. Don’t let its commercial success put you off – there’s much more to this grape than first meets the eye.  Keep an eye out for our pick of the best Sauvignon Blanc from around the world – or, in the meantime, read more Editorial 

Maligned by many, adored by more, Sauvignon Blanc divides wine-drinkers – and no more so than the wine-drinking elite. But why? Sophie Thorpe talks to the people behind some of the world’s best examples to explore the grape’s status today

Sauvignon Blanc divides wine-drinkers – and no more so than the wine-drinking elite. But why? Cloudy Bay, Ch. Margaux, Andy Erickson and others tell us more

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